


Names, Dates, Numbers, Places

by mgcarter



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuban Lance (Voltron), Homesick Lance (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Lance just needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgcarter/pseuds/mgcarter
Summary: Ok pardon me for being depressing its my first voltron ficBased off of a headcanon I saw that Lance goes through dates and names in his head because he's scared he's going to forget his family on EarthEnjoy! :3





	Names, Dates, Numbers, Places

Knock knock.  
Lance felt his face go red, quickly wiping the tears from his face and soaking them from his chin with his sleeve. He could hear what he knew was Pidge.  
“Lance?” she asked, poking her head in because she had zero boundaries. Lance looked up and smiled.  
“Hey Pidgeon.”  
Her freckled nose scrunched into a smile. She was in a green t-shirt and had her hair up in what looked like Allura’s best effort to put it in stubby ponytail.  
“Hunk made pelmeni for dinner. I dunno, I think it’s Russian or something. He was ranting about the loss of culture and flavors or whatever, soooo now we have dumplings.”  
“Kay, I’ll be right there. Save some for pel-me-ni.”  
“Oh mi-”  
He laughed over her as she put her face in her hand. She moaned and left the room, waving her hand and reluctantly saying, “Be down in 5, your night for dishes.”  
Lance let out a breath of air as she left.  
He leaned back on the wall, sitting on the small bed. He breathed in. Okay, he told himself.  
November 17th.  
April 3rd.  
December 14th.  
June 2, …….and….and…..  
A small wave of panic washed over him. His throat tightened and felt dry, his jaw shaking slightly, trying not to yell. He pushed his hair back and felt the wide-eyed hot tears coming back.  
….AND?!

 

 

“No, it’s pelmeni. It’s a traditional Russian dish. No one is having mac and cheese, we’re eating culture tonight,” Hunk yelled from the kitchen.  
Lance opened the door to see Pidge on top of the cabinets, Hunk trying to take the Ready Mac from her, Shiro tiredly mixing cherry capri sun and vodka, Keith and Coran putting plates out, and Allura poking the dumplings and mumbling something about Earthlings.  
It was already going better than spaghetti night.  
He clapped Hunk on the back.  
“Sorry I’m late, y’want me to get the broom?” he asked, looking up at Pidge.  
She clutched the box and stuck her tongue out.  
“Nah,” Hunk responded, ignoring her. “She can’t reach the microwave anyways.”  
“OKAY Y’KNOW WHAT-”  
“OKAAAYY, time for pelmeni,” Shiro cut everyone off.  
Lance was laughing so hard his stomach hurt, but he sat down promptly. Shiro took a shot of capri vodka and sat down next to him. Hunk smiled his happy grin and held the giant plate in one hand, tongs in the other. He had on his little pink apron that said “Hunk of Sunshine” and hummed as he plopped the dumplings on everyone’s plate. Allura looked confused.  
“What...are these filled with?” she asked.  
“Joy,” Hunk replied, not stopping.  
He piled a mini mountain on Shiro’s plate, which was followed by a prompt “thank you”.  
He went on to Lance, who squished one and hesitated a little, turning it over with his fork to investigate.  
“There’s not green food goo in here, is there?”  
“Nonononono, it’s pork and it’s potato and it’s awesome. Pidge, you joinin’ us?”  
Pidge plopped down and crossed her arms. “Yeah.”  
“Because you realize the beauty of culture and honoring the diversity of those who came before us?”  
“No, because I really can’t reach the freakin microwave,” she said, slumping in her seat.  
Keith choked on his drink, a few drops squirting out from his mouth onto the table. He pounded the table with his fist, tears coming out of his eyes, as everyone else started to lose it. He swallowed and started to wheeze, making everyone laugh harder. 

 

“Lance, do you need any help with those?” Coran called over a mountain of dishes.  
Lance turned off the faucet and smiled, scrubbing the plate splattered with beef juice.  
“Nah, I got it. I actually kind of like doin’ it. Reminds me of home, y’know? My sisters always made us do it. Me and my brothers.”  
“My brothers and I,” Coran corrected.  
“My brothers and I,” he parroted, shrugging. “We burned through it though. And my sisters were terrible at it anyways.They’d always just dump it in the dishwasher and then it would come out all gross and dirty still so we’d go to unload it and we’d have to start all over again. So now I like doing it, I guess,” Lance laughed. He smiled, but his face quickly became worried. He rinsed the plate off and let the bubbles swirl down the drain.  
Sisters, he thought.  
June 2.  
December 14th.  
He sighed, relieved.  
“What did your sisters do?” Coran asked.  
“Cooking, yard work, anything other than cleaning really. They taught me how to make ropa vieja, how to fix a car engine, make a mud mask, get a mower started, even taught me how to throw a curveball. Aw man, we broke so many windows,” he laughed. “They were better than me at baseball, but I could out-dance them any day. You know who Shakira is, Coran?”  
“Isn’t that a spice Hunk uses?”  
“Thaaaaaat’s paprika.”  
Lance smiled felt his face redden. “And then there was this really fun thing thing we did all together every year- it was stupid, my brother would take us all to the summer festival every June, and we’d eat, like, 4 corndogs each, and then we’d go on the scariest ride there and whoever threw up first had to pay. Anyways, my oldest brother lost every year even though it was his stupid idea in the first place to go there every year. He kept taking us, though, and my mom would call us ‘los idiotas que gastan mi dinero’ every time, but she made us Pescao en Escabeche afterwards so I think she thought it was funny. It was stupid, and I threw up like $50 worth of corn dogs for all of those years put together, but it was our thing.”  
His thoughts were interrupted by Coran’s laughing.  
“That’s nothing compared to what my brother and I did!” he said, his eyes sparkling. “We did all sorts of things, me and him. I’m not sure what a corndog is, but if it was anything like a glenkot, we picked them from the orchard all the time. We’d throw them at each other and end up making juice instead. We even tried lassoing wild yelmoars and bringing them home,” he said, laughing.  
Lance turned towards him where he was sitting at the table and smiled, but he noticed Coran’s face grow grim. He sighed.  
“It’s been over 10,000 years since I’ve seen him…” he whispered.  
Lance turned off the faucet and pulled a chair out. He sat down and was silent.  
“What was his name?” he asked softly.  
Coran grinned.  
“Kais,” he said melancholily. “And your siblings? What are their names?”  
“Well there’s Antonia, she’s the oldest. Then there’s Cristian, and then Soph, and then….then um.…”  
Lance’s brow narrowed, and his eyes looked scared. He paused.  
“M-Miguel,” he said in a broken voice, nodding his head. “Miguel.”  
“Lance….” Coran started.  
He was too late. Lance had already started shaking. Tears streamed down his face. He placed his elbows on the table and his hands in his hair. Tears ran down his face and stained his shirt. Coran placed his arm around him and held him tightly, his own eyes now misty. There was a long period of silence before Lance let out a pained breath of air.  
“I...I forgot him for a second. I forgot him, Coran.”  
“I know,” he whispered gently. “I know.”  
He let him go, and both their flooded eyes met with a weak smile. Coran took Lance’s arm and rolled up his sleeve. There were several sequences of numbers written in black sharpie.  
“I noticed you’ve been writing numbers on your arm,” he said, looking at them inquisitively. “What are these?”  
Lance sniffed. “They’re birthdays. See, Antonia was born on June 2, so the numbers for this one are 6-2-1984.”  
“Ah, I see. Good to know you’re not a spy.”  
Lance let out a small laugh and wiped at his eye.  
“I can’t remember my mom’s without looking at my arm. I just...need to know that it’s still there....” he said with a pause. He squinted his eyes and let the tears pile up, growing so heavy that they had to roll down. His whole body was shaking.  
“I don’t want to forget, Coran”  
“I understand,” he sighed, looking at the table. “Being homesick is…. it’s less painful than forgetting completely.”  
Lance nodded. He stretched his arm and let it rest on the table. His breathed deeply and let his eyes focus on the numbers.  
“Yeah.”


End file.
